


Firsts

by erunamiryene



Series: Dispatches From the Commonwealth [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Post-Blind Betrayal, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:33:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5282228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erunamiryene/pseuds/erunamiryene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Essie and Danse find a bright spot amid the chaos of the Commonwealth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Major spoilers herein for Danse's quest, Blind Betrayal, and for the final conversation after that.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essie & Danse discuss recent events and come to a better understanding of what they are to each other.

[1]  
Essie returns to Listening Post Bravo far sooner than Danse had anticipated. He’d known she’d be back, but she must have had a vertibird drop her off as close as she dared to be back this soon. Not that he’s surprised; of course Essie would use Brotherhood resources to flagrantly disobey Brotherhood orders. She’s always been terrible at following orders. It drove him crazy when they first met.

It saved his life a few days ago.

The elevator dings, the door opens, and she steps out, the legs of that black suit she’s so proud of dirty and shredded, testament to how she’d hiked straight across wilderness to get there. Her face lights up when she sees him. “Hey, Danse.”

“Back already?” He’s pleased he sounds casual, though he feels anything but. He never feels casual when she’s close to him. “How was your meeting with Elder Maxson?”

Her mouth twists in a moue of distaste. “He promoted me.”

“You deserve it,” he says without hesitation, and he means it. She’s been an exemplary soldier, her inability to follow orders notwithstanding. She’s efficient, intelligent, ruthless while facing the enemy but not lacking in compassion where it’s required. She’s been just as much of a mentor to him as he’s been to her.

“Not for what he’s saying I did!” Her fist connects with a filing cabinet in a rare outburst of temper. “By all appearances, you’re not even cold in the ground and he’s handed me your rank, your armor, and your quarters! It’s … it’s -” She throws her hands up in the air. Her normally calm demeanor is gone and she's furious, blazing with anger on his behalf.

He rarely addresses her by her name, so ingrained are military customs and courtesies, but he wants to try to change that, at least when they’re on downtime. “Essie. It’s all right.”

“No, it isn’t!” She’s still scowling. “He’s tarring your name and your deeds in the name of ideological purity, and it’s shameful!”

“The Brotherhood -”

“Danse.” She fixes him with a glare. “You can’t tell me you still really think all synths are the problem. Not really.” She’s clearly given this a lot of thought in the last few days, possibly moreso than she did when she first returned from the Institute. They still haven’t talked about that trip in any great detail, but he has a feeling that will be changing in the days to come. “The problem is the Institute itself and what they’re doing. You know this.”

He’s silent for a long moment. These are questions he hasn’t yet wanted to face. “I’m still not sure what I know.”

The scowl fades, just a bit. “I know. I’m just … ugh, Maxson rubs me the wrong way.” Her gaze softens. “I’m sorry. Is there anything you needed from your quarters? I can go get it and bring it back to you.” There’s a brief flash of mischief in her eyes. “Maybe a personal log full of personal thoughts? That I of _course_ wouldn’t read?”

He knows for a fact Essie’s never met a holotape she doesn’t like and is suddenly grateful that he’d wisely kept all those personal thoughts to himself, especially where she’s concerned. “No. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Darn.” Essie looks around his meager living space, then jerks her head toward the door. “Anyway, I didn’t come to fume about Maxson. Let’s go to Sanctuary. I’m not leaving you sitting here in this rotting bunker.” 

The words are politely sweet but he can hear the steel running through them, not that that stops him from trying to argue. “I’m fine -”

Her hands settle on her hips. She’s having none of it today. “Do I have to order you?”

“But I’m not -”

She immediately changes her strategy, laying a hand on his forearm. “Please, Danse?”

He can’t resist that. Not the way she’s looking at him. Not the way she says his name. Not the way her hand lingers, the touch becoming just a bit overly familiar before she pulls it back.

Plus, he’s missed her. He’s missed her more than he likes to admit.

“All right, Essie. Let me get my things.”

[2]  
They make the journey across the wilderness, moving at an unhurried pace, passing the time with small talk and companionable silences. One night, Danse seeks Essie’s advice, having gotten nowhere wrestling with his newfound knowledge alone. He knows she’s been waiting, watching him work try to work through this, not wanting to pry.

He finishes cleaning his armor, puts the cleaning gear away, settles onto a fallen tree near the fire to soak in its warmth. “Can I talk to you about a personal matter?”

She immediately sets her book aside, coming to sit beside him. “Of course. What is it?”

Halting and unsure, the words come slowly at first as he lays bare his fears, everything he’s been turning over in his mind since he found out. How he’s rudderless. Lost. Without a plan for the first time in what he considers his life.

She listens, waiting until he falls to silence to speak. “You just have to fight through this, Danse. Approach it as though it’s an objective like any other. It’s just one we’ll have to conquer with discussion instead of weaponry.”

 _We_.

Her words bolster his spirits, as they so often do. “You’re right. I need to come to terms with everything I’ve lost, and everything I’ve gained.” After a moment, he smiles at her. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

Essie briefly catches her lower lip between her teeth, and he’s surprised to see color blossom in her cheeks.

“I, ah … sort of hoped that we ….” She looks down, twiddling her fingers together, then back at him, her face soft in the light of the campfire. “That we’d be more than friends.”

Danse is rendered momentarily speechless. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, of all the possible responses he’d thought she’d give after he spoke his piece, this was nowhere on the list. “Are you saying ….” She can’t be saying what it sounds like she’s saying, but he has to ask. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?”

Hesitation darkens her eyes. “I - yes.” He can tell she’s regretting her words, though he’s not sure why. “But on top of everything else you’re dealing with, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Let’s forget I did. I shouldn’t be making this about me right now.”

“No, it’s not that,” he says, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to discourage you from talking about it. It’s just that it doesn’t make any sense. I’m not even human, Essie.”

Her eyes narrow, the hesitation falling away. “If you were just a machine, would we even be having this conversation?”

“I don’t know.” He gives the question some consideration. “I’m not certain what the Institute embedded into my brain to handle this sort of thing. If I was human, wouldn’t this be a hell of a lot easier?”

She laughs, a short, sharp bark that doesn’t sound as amused as laughter ought to sound. “Easier? No, it’s not easier. I’m so nervous I feel like I’m going to throw up.” She folds her arms, her hard edges smoothing out, her voice tender. “And you’re not a machine, Danse. In fact, you’re more human than most people could ever hope to be.”

He falls silent, staring at the fire, hoping that the words to explain how he’s feeling will magically come to him. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.” He looks at her, searching her face. There may not be much in his life he can control right now but he can decide how this is going to go, at least. “I’m not going to lie to you, Essie. You’re going to have to be patient with me. Coming to terms with these … well, human feelings is going to be a very difficult journey.”

“That’s usually the case with feelings,” she says, “machine or not.” She bumps him with her shoulder. “And you’re not a machine. Just to reiterate.”

He nods, then takes one of her hands in his, absentmindedly brushing his thumb across the back of her hand. “But if we can tackle these obstacles together, I think that this relationship could last a very long time.”

“Relationship, hmm?” She smiles widely and leans against him, snuggling closer when he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I think so, too.”

[3]  
Two days later, on the morning of the day they reach Sanctuary, Danse kisses Essie for the first time.

He watches her brush out and restyle her hair. Watches her prop a mostly-intact mirror against a log and carefully apply eyeliner. Listens to her sing while she makes breakfast. Catches her looking at him. Oh, she looks away as soon as she knows he knows, pink rising in her cheeks, but it doesn’t stop her from doing it again.

And again. And every time she does, her expression softens, the corner of her mouth pulling up in a smile.

She’s packing the cleaned dishes and utensils into her bag when he works up his nerve, wryly amused at the fact that he’s less apprehensive when faced with a horde of feral ghouls than he is about this one simple gesture.

“Essie.”

She drops the last of the supplies into her pack and closes the distance between them, her expression concerned yet alert, hand falling to the pistol at her side. “What is it? Enemies?”

“No, nothing like that.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t really know how I want to … that is, I ….” He rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Shit, this shouldn’t be so _hard_.” He cups her face in his hands, and then there’s no more space between them, her murmur of pleasure muffled against his mouth. Her arms twine around his neck as her tongue slips between his easily parted lips, and one of her hands falls to his waist, splaying wide on the small of his back to pull herself fully against him.

Why did he wait so long to do this?

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when she takes a step back, heat in her gray eyes. “We … we need to stop,” she says, breathless. “Because we need to get on the road, and ….” She smooths her hair, quite unnecessarily. “And if we don’t stop now, I’m not going to want to. I already don’t want to. I want you to -” She bites her lip. “Well. Anyway.” She clears her throat to break the awkward silence. “Our mission is to reach Sanctuary.”

“Right.” His thoughts are foggy, distracted, focused only on her. “You’re right.” He reaches for her hand and pulls her back to him. “Absolutely.”

Time, the Commonwealth, the mission - they all disappear when he kisses her. There is only the two of them, and this feeling like his chest is going to burst, except it only heightens the longer they stay pressed together, the more he commits to memory the shape of her lips and the taste of her mouth and how she fits against him like they were made for each other.

[4]  
The sun is setting on Sanctuary when they make their way to Essie’s house after dinner with the rest of the settlers. Essie sets the lantern on the coffee table and drops onto the couch, sighing. “It will be nice to finally sleep in a bed tonight,” she says. “I’ll never be a fan of camping.”

Her eyes drift closed, and Danse takes a moment to study her face, the curve of her mouth, how her hair is escaping its careful updo. The kiss from this morning has been hovering at the edge of his thoughts all day, and now that they’re alone it’s at the forefront of his mind. “Essie.”

She cracks one eye open. “Hmm?”

“How about _not_ sleeping in the bed?”

Both eyes open. “But I ….” Realization dawns on her face, and she’s off the couch and standing in front of him in an instant. “Really?”

“Oh, yes.” He extracts pins from her hair, dropping them onto the coffee table, _tink tink tink_ , then running his hands through the raven locks. “We’re here, and we can relax.” He kisses her, long and slow and sure. “I still have a lot of things to figure out, but how badly I want you is not one of those things.”

Her hands are threading through his hair, trailing over his shoulders, whispering along his arms. She makes no move to pull him toward the bedroom, content to stand melded to him like they’re one person, her mouth only leaving his long enough to draw quick breaths. 

“Danse,” she murmurs, reverent and pleading, and in answer he lifts her up. She wraps her legs around his waist, clinging to him, showering tiny kisses, pinpricks of heat, all along his face and neck as they make their way into her bedroom. He sets her down, looking around.

She’s salvaged artwork and furniture, creating a haven in the midst of the chaos and ruin of the Commonwealth, and he briefly wonders if he’s hallucinating this whole thing, locked in a radiation-induced delirium.

If he is, he doesn’t want to wake up.

He’s jolted from his thoughts by her hands, warm and callused, sliding over the planes of his chest as she slips them under the button down shirt he’s wearing. She breathes his name again, fingers nimble on the buttons, nipping at his bared collarbone when she casts the shirt aside. He can’t stifle his groan, leaning into her before he returns the favor, stripping the jacket and tank top from her in short order. His hands still when something catches his eye.

She’s wearing his holotags.

“Oh!” Her expression turns nearly defiant when she realizes what he’s looking at. “I wasn’t going to give them to Maxson. He doesn’t deserve them. So I kept them.”

He lays a hand over them, palm resting just above her bared breasts. “You’re wearing them, when you could have simply stuck them in your pack.”

“Well, I ….” Her cheeks flame. “I wanted to keep them close. While you weren’t with me.” She clears her throat, then catches the chain with a finger and starts to lift it over her head. “You can have them back now, if you want them.”

He stops her hand. “Keep them,” he says, voice hoarse. “Please. Wear them.”

There’s a glimpse of white when she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “Do you want to wear mine?”

“Are they still just sitting in a pouch in your pack?” he asks, slightly chiding. They’ve argued about her holotags more than once, and she’s never budged on the subject, much to his consternation. She nods, and he smiles. “I’d love to wear them, if you want me to.”

She turns to her pack, tossed on a nearby end table, and swiftly extracts them, then drops them into his open palm. She closes his hand around them, then presses a kiss to his curled fingers. “They’re yours.”

He slips them over his head, their weight at once familiar and welcomed as they settle against his chest, then pulls her back against him, fingers slipping into the waistband of her leather pants. “Come here.”

She can feel him pressing against her thigh, unmistakably aroused, and she rolls her hips. “Oh, Danse. How long are you going to make me wait? Do you need an order?”

A smile teases at the corner of his mouth, even though his voice is gruff, all business. “Are you giving me an order, Paladin?”

“Indeed. I’m ordering you to utilize your good judgment and initiative and take charge of this situation.”

He sits on the bed and pulls her into his lap. “Yes, ma’am.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essie and Danse steal some private time at Sanctuary.

[1]  
“What’s this one?”

Danse is leaned against the headboard, stretched out under Essie. He’d dreamed of her more than once, but those dreams pale in comparison to the reality of her languidly riding him, glowing in flickering lantern light. She slows just a bit; her hand skims across his torso, and she presses a kiss to the seven inch scar that slashes diagonally toward his sternum from his shoulder, cutting through his stark black Brotherhood tattoo. It’s the worst of them, and she’s saved it for last.

“Knife wound. Before I -” Danse hisses a breath through his teeth, momentarily distracted yet again when she lazily rolls her hips. “Back when I was an initiate.”

She’s been asking him about his scars, familiarizing herself with each inch of bared flesh, and every touch has been more maddening than the last. He has to actively resist the urge to settle his hands around her waist and move her faster; this isn’t a swift, silent encounter on the Prydwen and he doesn’t want to treat it as such, no matter how every fiber of his being is screaming for her.

One combat-roughened hand slides from her hip to her shoulder to the back of her neck, maneuvering her mouth to his. He could spend the rest of his life kissing her and it wouldn’t be enough. He’ll never tire of how perfectly she fits against him, how she rakes her hands through his hair then twines her arms around him, like there isn’t a thing in the world that matters more to her than this.

When she kisses him, when his blood is on fire and smoldering with his desire for her, he can almost believe her vehement assertion that he _is_ human, no matter what the Brotherhood says, no matter what he’s been taught.

Essie leans back just a bit, her breathlessness just like his own as she closes her eyes. His mouth finds the curve of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the swell of one breast. He slides an arm around her ass and guides her toward him, swirling his tongue around one pebbled nipple, then the other. He draws forth inarticulate noises that Essie struggles to keep muffled as she arches her back, her unbound hair a raven waterfall.

It takes all her willpower to continue to move at a leisurely pace when he releases her. “Thought about this -” She stops and inhales deeply, struggling to stay focused. “Before tonight?”

No point in dissembling. At least she didn’t ask for details, not that he could recall any right now even if he had. “Oh, _yes_.”

She smiles, clearly pleased. “Mmm, me too.” She doesn’t mention the dreams that left her aching with need, or the fantasies she’d entertain herself with while sitting on watch. “Terribly unprofessional thoughts about my terribly professional paladin.”

His voice is rough in her ear as he sinks his fingers into the curve of her hips, and he can’t help twitching her forward just a bit. “Essie.” He wants to say something sweet, something that will make her melt, but she’s so close he can’t think straight, she’s surrounding him with velvet heat, and all he can say is what’s been on his mind since she settled herself onto his lap. “Fuck me.”

She cradles his face, his stubble scratchy on her hands, and kisses him again, pulling his lower lip between her teeth, tongue sweeping his mouth. She releases him, staying so close that they share a breath between them. “Say it again.”

Capturing her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he turns her head to catch her earlobe between his teeth. “Fuck me,” he rasps.

There’s a note of command in his voice that sends a shiver down Essie’s spine; she’s moving faster almost before he’s finished speaking, sliding along his skin, the muscles in her back stretching and bunching with each snap of her hips. Soon they’re sweat-slick and gleaming in the light, their movements punctuated with groans that elude their futile efforts to keep quiet.

He sits up and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her into him as he thrusts upward. Essie clings to him, her hips bucking of their own accord as she chases the precipes, wanting nothing more than to be flung off the edge. He jerks her chin up, bruising kiss muting her spiraling cry as her vision goes white, nails scoring his back when she comes. She’s still gasping for air and spasming around him when he comes a moment later, his embrace tightening, his exultant shout muffled in her neck.

It’s some time before they reluctantly untangle from each other. She winces as she unfolds her protesting legs, then slides off of him and the bed so he can stretch out properly. He maneuvers onto his side and props himself up on one elbow, beckoning to her.

She snuggles up next to him. “We didn’t do a very good job of being quiet.” She’s sure it’s no secret to anyone else what they were doing; after all, it’s late and noise carries easily through structurally unsound walls and patchy roofs.

“That’s true,” he says, kissing the top of her head, “but I’m sure we’ll get better with practice.”

The room is quiet, Danse is solid and warm against her back, and Essie is dozing when a low metallic groan breaks the silence and the bed shifts underneath them, just enough to be noticeable.

Her eyes have barely fluttered open when the hardware, put under too much strain this evening, loses its already tenuous hold on the rickety metal bed frame and the whole thing gives way. The mattress hits the floor with a crash. The footboard pitches away from the bed and clatters against the steamer trunk full of clothes. Essie curls into a ball as the headboard topples toward them; Danse throws an arm over her and catches it. “Hold this for a second.” She reaches up, holding it in place until he gets up and leans it against the far wall.

They regard each other for a long moment, and then Essie giggles. It only gets worse when she tries to stop it, and in short order she’s out of breath, arms wrapped around her chest. “We broke it!” she whispers, wheezing. His bearing can’t hold up under her infectious amusement, and they end up clinging to each other, shoulders shaking.

She nudges him as she finally wrangles her mirth under control, a smile still playing on her face. “So, does this count as bivouacking, then?” she asks, draping the blanket back over the two of them. “I mean, we are sleeping on the ground.”

“No, because we are very clearly covered,” he says, pointing up at the roof. Stars twinkle through one of the holes she hasn’t repaired yet. “Well, mostly.”

“How did I know you’d answer me seriously?” She chuckles, then pillows her head on his chest. “Well, whatever it is we’re doing, I’m glad neither of us have to stand watch.” She yawns widely, then pops her head up long enough to lean over and kiss him. “Good night, Danse.”

He runs his fingers through her hair as she falls asleep. “Good night, Essie.”

[2]  
It’s become something of an unspoken Sanctuary tradition to come together for breakfast and dinner. It’s fostered a sense of community and stability in the unpredictability of the wasteland, and is one of Essie’s favorite things about living in Sanctuary. She often laments how rarely they’re all together. This morning, she finds herself hoping that maybe she’ll get lucky, and she and Danse will be the only ones there.

“People did see me come in here with you last night,” Danse says, rummaging through the steamer trunk for a shirt. “And they’re going to see me leave here this morning. I assume they can put two and two together.” He falls silent for a moment, eyes on the riot of color in the nearly-full trunk. “Are you hoarding clothing?”

“No.” Essie pauses, pants still unfastened. “I just bring back decent ones.” She shoves the button through the hole and gives him an arch look. “Including all your civilian clothes, I might add.”

He extracts a t-shirt and swiftly pulls it over his head. “Fair enough.” Making a face, he rolls his shoulders. “I think this is a little small.”

She takes a moment to answer, appreciating how it pulls taut across his shoulders and hugs his biceps, making a mental note to suggest he work on some of the power armor later. “I’m not seeing it,” she says, striving for casual. “Looks fine to me.”

As Essie opens the front door and sees that only a few chairs are occupied, she’s tentatively hopeful that they’ll get through breakfast with a minimum of fuss. Her hope is tinged with sudden worry when she notices that one of the chairs is occupied by Piper, who rarely passes up a chance to tease someone. No one says anything as Essie and Danse make their way to the impromptu shelter, pour cups of coffee, and settle into two of the unoccupied chairs, and Essie slowly relaxes, content to sit back and listen to everyone else talk.

Her relaxation is short-lived.

“So, is this the part where we say _ad victoriam_ , paladins?” Piper asks when the conversation lulls, a wide grin on her face.

Danse may as well have been carved from stone for all the reaction Piper gets out of _him_ , but Essie has to abruptly sit forward to avoid dribbling coffee down her shirt, momentarily thinking very bad things about his military bearing and how unfair it is, leaving her to suffer alone like this. “Piper!”

“Oh, you may not be able to call her Blue anymore, Piper,” Cait chimes in. “Look at her face; you’re gonna have to call her Red!” The two women burst into peals of laughter as Essie studiously examines the content of her coffee cup, silently cursing her flaming face.

“Don’t pay them any mind,” Nick says. “Danse, you can be an ass, but you’re _our_ ass. It’s not right, what the Brotherhood tried to do to you. We’ve got your back.”

Danse is silent long enough that Essie turns to look at him, eyebrow arching toward her hairline, her expression growing stormy. They’ve had a few conversations about the Brotherhood’s attitudes toward … well, _everyone_ else, none of which really ended satisfactorily, but now that he no longer has ties to them, he no longer has an excuse.

“Thank you, Nick,” he finally says with some difficulty. “I appreciate that.”

Preston finally breaks the uncomfortable silence. “General, that isn’t going to be your standard welcome back procedure for _everyone_ , is it? It might make things awkward.”

Essie gives him a wounded look. “You too, Preston? I expected it from _these_ two -” she flaps a hand at Piper and Cait, who are all but wheezing at this point, “but from you?”

“Sorry, General.” He doesn’t look sorry at all.

“All right, you’ve all had your fun.” Essie sits back in her chair, fingers laced around her mug. “What do we have going on today?”


End file.
